


Catharsis

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-28
Updated: 2006-02-28
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8078332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Everyone should value their friends, 'cos therapy costs that much more.  (11/04/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

'Your PEENukle NEEDS WRK' Reed blinked as he read the subject header in the communique from Ensign Tanner. Damn those Proton Energy Electron bursts. Four months of simulations, three weeks of tests and in one sentence, it had all been nullified. 

Well, now that he was expecting the worst it could not hurt to read the rest of the message... 

'Bring out your Bad Boys' "I beg your pardon?" 

'Have U got the lovin'?' "You what?" 

'Clear your Septic Tank, 4ever' "Is there a problem with the waste reclamation system?" 

'Hot Mommies do it with style.' "Bloody Hell." 

Frantically Reed stabbed the 'Delete' button. He breathed a deep sigh of relief when the screen showed that all those daft messages had been erased...except one. 

With a deep sense of foreboding Reed accessed the message; the one from 'Plasma Boy'... 

'Hi, tight-ass...' 

Reed blanched and his hand darted towards the big 'Escape' key. Damn! He must have nudged the mouse in the process... 

'...Sorry, that's too forward. You don't like 'forward' do you, Malcolm? What I mean to say, what I want to say is...well, I love you, Malcolm. Hah! You weren't expecting that, were you! One to me! Ha Ha!' 

If the writer had not been using his name, Malcolm would have thought this message was meant for someone else. Of course it was meant for someone else. Maybe not on Enterprise; he was the only 'Malcolm' there, but there were thousands of Malcolms in the quadrant; No way that the writer meant him. Glad that was sorted. Malcolm snorted; As if! Now to turn that analytical brain to a real puzzle... 

Why did he keep getting these junk mails? The Universe knew that Malcolm Reed did not have a septic tank, was quite happy with his own endowments, did not need a loan since he was adequately compensated for his work...Nor did he need car insurance, whatever a 'car' was. 

No, all he wanted was Trip. His very own 'plasma boy'. 

A-a-h. Right. Got you. 

'From; Reed:M. Lt 

To; Plasma Boy. 

Subject; Your Place Or Mine?' 

~the end~


End file.
